


An Coineachan

by Jehan_Grantaire_Fusion



Series: Fics inspired by my taste in music [9]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: British Sign Language, Changelings, Crying, Existential Crises, Fae are not your friends, Fairy Tale Elements, Like really slow, Loads of it, Multi, Slow Burn, So yeah, This will be long and complicated, Whump, and idk how I’ll fit romance in, but heyyyyy, celtic mythology - Freeform, the spirk is immediate as is ChapelxUhura but everything else is sloooowwww
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-07 09:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14078307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jehan_Grantaire_Fusion/pseuds/Jehan_Grantaire_Fusion
Summary: “I left my baby lying here, as I went a-gathering blueberries...Hovan hovan gorry og o, I never found my baby, oh.”Isn’t it funny how eggshells can make a man laugh like the north wind until he cries cobwebs? Now the crew has to face the fact that one member isn’t even properly alive, nor ever was. All for the want of a pair of scissors.Based on the Highland Fairy Lullaby.CURRENTLY ON TEMPORARY HIATUS





	1. I left my darling here

**Author's Note:**

> As someone who only recently began to learn British Sign Language, I have tried to do my best with this. Any speech in parentheses is in Sign.
> 
> The tiny bit of Russian means ‘friend’. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) (?)

 

Baby Monty sat in the garden of a semi-detached house in Kilmarnock. He was a few weeks shy of two, and curious about everything. His mother was sleeping off a migraine, and the  high garden walls and quiet neighbourhood meant that Monty was often turned into the back garden to play.

Monty had never known cruelty in his brief life. Everyone he met was kind and gentle to him, and though he got told off for being naughty sometimes, it was never more than a stern word. When he saw the lady in the garden, therefore, he was completely unafraid.

The lady was tall and pale, wrapped in a green gown. She smiled at him, crouching down and holding out her arms. “Hello, little one! Will you come say hello?” She cooed.

Monty stuck his finger in his mouth, contemplating for a minute, then toddled over to rest his cheek against the lady’s face.

Delighted, she cooed and clicked over him, gathering him into her arms. “Oh, what a darling you are! I think I shall keep you.”

His mother found him crying in the garden, and whisked him inside for a feed.

She found that he had begun to sleep silently through the night, for which she was grateful, but his so-called “terrible twos” started. He loved milk, hated scissors, and cried every day.

 

The space station that Kirk had picked for shore leave was...interesting, to say the least. Everyone welcome, and we do mean everyone - not just every species under the sun, but every culture, sub-culture, sect, cult, everyone was here.

Oh well, McCoy thought, at least they have good mint juleps.

Accompanied by Chekov, Sulu, and Scotty, he had wandered into a bar where they served all kinds of drinks. Mint juleps, whiskey, vodka, and piña coladas had convinced them to stay and have a drink. Or several.

“Hey, Mr. Scott,” Sulu said, nudging the engineer, “that guy’s been staring at you.”

Indeed, a man was watching all of them from across the room, Scotty in particular. He looked human, dressed in an antiquated suit. A leather satchel hung from his shoulder.

He saw them watching, and stood. Instead of leaving, as McCoy expected him to, he walked toward them, smiling broadly.

The four exchanged glances. This could mean nothing good.

“So sorry for staring at you,” the man says, his Standard softened by an English accent. “But I couldn’t help but wonder...tell me, are any of you interested in magic?”

“Magic?” Scotty repeats, incredulous. “What d’ye mean, magic?”

The man flashes pearly white teeth in a grin. “Yes, magic! Well, parlour tricks, really.” He looks at them with a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. “Perhaps you’d like to have a look?”

For a moment, none of them moved. Then Leonard shrugged. “Hell, why not? Won’t cost us nothin’ to just look.” He frowned at the magician. “Will it?”

“Oh, no, no! My magic is free of charge to Starfleet officers such as your fine selves.” The man reached into his satchel and rummaged round for a moment. He drew out a little stove the size of an apple, a few shreds of what appeared to be carrot, and an egg.

The four Enterprise crewmen leaned forward curiously. The stove was far too small to cook the egg on, nor did there appear to be any kind of saucepan to put on the little hob.

The man cracked the egg open, revealing a clean, empty interior. He put the carrot in the egg, and put the whole thing on the stove.

McCoy and Sulu exchanged a glance. This seemed incredibly weird.

Scotty, however, appeared to be delighted. His eyes lit up when the egg was put on the stove, and Chekov realised he was trembling, very slightly.

“Meester Scott?” He asked. “Is ewerything okay?”

Scotty opened his mouth to answer, but then the man turned the little stove on.

The reaction was unexpected, to say the very least.

Scotty laughed.

He didn’t just laugh; it was as if the egg on the stove was the funniest thing in the world. He clutched his sides and roared.

“Look at that! Eggshells! As a pan!” He guffawed, slapping his knee.

Startled, his crew mates began to laugh, infected by the Scotsman’s good humour.

The man smiled.

Scotty didn’t seem to be able to stop laughing. He pressed his hands against his eyes, face red.

And then the wind howled.

The engineer’s laughter turned from the normal guffaw into a noise like a gale, high and howling and inhuman. The man’s smile widened into a grin.

“Got you,” he hissed. Sulu, Chekov, and McCoy were too shocked to move.

The man reached into his pocket and metal gleamed in the lights of the bar.

Scotty ran.

As if his movement unfroze the others, they all moved at once. The doctor reached for his communicator, Chekov leapt up to follow Scotty, and Sulu drew his phaser. “What’s going on here?” He demanded, aiming at the man.

He cocked his head. “That always gets them, the eggshells. They think it’s so funny.”

“Jim!” McCoy barked. “Dammit, will you stop screwing that Vulcan long enough to answer your communicator?!” Exasperated, he turned to the man. “You! What the hell just happened to Scotty?”

“He’s a changeling - a fairy baby.” The man shrugged and began to put the stove back in the satchel. “Obviously, the real Montgomery Scott was stolen as a child and that-“ he nodded to where Scotty had run off “-was put in his place.”

Scotty was frightened. The strange noise from his mouth, the frightened looks from his friends, the way that man had looked at him...it was too much.

He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. Think, think - have to get away. Someplace cool, someplace dark-

“Meester Scott!” Someone was chasing him! Faster, faster!

Blind, he slammed into a wall and stopped.

Chekov caught up to him. “What is going on? What happened to you?”

Scotty didn’t reply, but drew his hands away from his face. Long, floating strands of something clung to them.

“Cobwebs?” Chekov whispered. “Why are you crying cobwebs?” He touched Scotty’s shoulder. “Monty, друг, what’s happening?

  
Scotty still did not turn, and said; “Acorn before oak I knew,

and an egg before a hen,

but never before have I seen

an eggshell brew dinner for harvest men.”

Anxiety left a sour taste in the young Russian’s mouth. Whatever was going on with Scotty, it was incredibly worrying. “I think you need to get back to the Enterprise. You are obwiously sick.” He reaches for his communicator. “Enterprise, two to beam up. Please tell Doctor M’Benga that Meester Scott is not feeling well.”

He gently took Scotty’s hand, noting absently that the other was covering the Scotsman’s mouth. He looked very ill, Chekov thought - pale, with those horrible cobwebs covering his face. Almost like a corpse, in fact.

They rematerialised in the transporter room. Mr. Kyle looked up at them. “I alerted Doctor M’Benga, and Doctor McCoy came back a few minutes ago.” He frowned at Scotty. “Dear lord, what happened?”

Chekov shook his head darkly. “I do not know. It’s not good, whatever it is.”

Scotty let himself be lead to the Medbay, still holding one hand over his mouth. Doctor McCoy, Doctor M’Benga, and Christine were waiting to examine him.

In the brig, Kirk glared at the man in the holding cell. “What’s your name?”

“Sean Holdings, sir.” He had not resisted being beamed aboard and unceremoniously thrust into the brig.

Kirk began to pace. “So, Mr. Holdings, what have you done to my chief engineer?”

Sean examined his nails, cool as you please. “I merely tricked him into revealing himself.”

“According to my chief navigator, CMO, and a very upstanding young ensign, Mr. Scott began to laugh uncontrollably and cry a substance like cobwebs. Care to explain that?”

Sean moved closer to the barrier. “It’s very simple. He’s a changeling.”

Kirk frowned, holding back his anger. “I don’t think I follow you, Mr. Holdings.”

Sean sighed, as if the sheer insanity of Kirk’s question irritated him. “A changeling, a fairy baby. As a small child, Montgomery Scott was taken from his parents and replaced with a fairy’s child, masquerading as a human. I suspected this, and used the eggshells to trick it into revealing itself.”

Kirk shook his head. “I’m sorry, fairy as in - small, sparkly, magic wand?”

“No!” Sean thumped his first against the glass, his first sign of true emotion. “Not that at all! Fair Folk, the little people, bigger and older and more powerful than anything you could ever imagine.” He slumped down. “They’re wanting their own back, you see. They’ve got a new queen now, and she wants all her children back home, to start anew. That changeling needs to come with me.”

Kirk narrowed his eyes. “Now, hold on, mister. Scotty isn’t going anywhere until we’ve figured out exactly who you are and what’s going on with him.” With that, he joined his husband in the corridor outside.

“So, Mr. Spock,” he said, “what do we have on him?”

Spock tapped at his PADD for a second. “Sean Holdings was born in Yorkshire twenty-eight standard years ago. He graduated from the local college at the age of nineteen and worked at the local factory for the next eight years. After the factory closed, he bought a small transport for meteor prospecting purposes.”

Kirk leaned over Spock’s shoulder to read the information on the PADD. “What about the whole fairy thing, what’s up with that?”

“I do not know, Jim. My knowledge of old Earth mythology is fairly limited. I will do more research on the subject.”

In the medbay, Leonard put down his tricorder and glared at it. “According to this, your heartbeat’s nearly ten times the normal resting rate, and your blood pressure’s so low you oughta be unconscious.”

Scotty hadn’t opened his mouth since he was taken to Sickbay. Now, he lifted his hands, arms trembling as he signed. ‘How shaken must he be,’ Leonard thought, ‘that he won’t talk verbally?’

“Hold on now, darlin’. I’m a little rusty on my Sign.” McCoy said, watching the engineer carefully.

All members of Starfleet learned Universal Sign Language in the Academy. In the event of a translator glitch, it was handy to have a language that everyone could speak. USL was specifically designed with various species in mind, and was very easy to pick up, but McCoy had less of an opportunity to use it than the engineers, who often worked in noisier conditions.

He focused now on what Scotty was saying.

(I don’t feel very well. My head feels light and I don’t want to open my mouth.)

(Why not?) Leonard asked, handing the tricorder over to Christine so she could continue scanning.

(There’s something in my mouth.)

(Can you open your mouth so I can see what’s inside?)

(No!) Very emphatic. (Let me be! I’ll feel fine in a minute! Let me be!)

They argued back and forth, back and forth until Scotty finally was persuaded to let the good Doctor look inside his mouth.

“Christine, look after Mr. Scott,” McCoy ordered after a stunned moment. I’m getting Jim.” He ran off, leaving Christine to try and figure out why Scotty had thorns in his mouth.


	2. I saw the swan’s track on the lake

“I’m telling you,” Sean hissed, “you have to give him to me. He isn’t from here! He doesn’t belong here! He’s not human.”

Kirk paced, mind working furiously. “Lemme get this straight, then,” he said. “My chief engineer has been a kind of sleeper agent for the past thirty-odd years. Now your boss or whatever wants him back?”

Sean nodded vigorously. “She wants all her children back. She’s regrouping, you see. Drawing them under her wings to keep them safe.” He tipped his head, suddenly sorrowful. “They were so weak under the old queen. She was strong, strong in her prime, but she grew old and weak and her children began to forget.” He sighed.

“Please. Just...let me take him home. He’ll be truly happy there. And,” he leaned forward, “you’ll have the real Montgomery Scott back. The one stolen from his backyard thirty-four years ago.”

Kirk left the room without replying. He needed to talk to his CMO.

“What do I do, Bones?” He sighed. “If Scotty’s really a fairy-“

“Whatever he is, he’s not human,” Bones interjected. “Heart rate ten times the normal rate, blood pressure nearly a quarter what it’s supposed to be, he weighs about twenty kilos, not to mention the whole cobweb and thorn situation...”

“-if he’s a fairy,” Jim continued, “then Sean’s right. And if he’s right, then he needs to go back to Fairyland or whatever.” He sighed and began to rummage around for something alcoholic. “But I don’t want to just...I dunno, let him leave! He seems pretty happy here, he’s the best damn engineer in Starfleet, and he’s a good friend of mine. He shook his head, exhausted by the conundrum.

“Well, what if we ask Mr. Scott what he wants?” Bones said dryly. “I feel that would be the best thing to do in this situation.”

Jim smiled at his friend. “Oh, Bones. What would I do without you?”

“Eat nothin’ but cake and never have a medical exam or physical, I should imagine.”

Christine met them at the entrance to the medbay. “He still won’t speak,” she explained. “I don’t think he can, not with the thorns.”

Kirk absentmindedly patted her arm. “Thanks so much, Christine. You’re off-shift now, right?”

She nodded. “That’s right, sir, but if you need me to stay-“

“No, that’s ok.” He smiled at her. “Lieutenant Uhura’s probably wondering where you are.”

She nodded again, her features breaking into a relieved smile. “Yes sir. I promised to take her to the observation deck tonight.” She scurried off, leaving Kirk to deal with his chief engineer.

 

“So, Scotty, I think we might know what’s going on with you right now...”

After the explanation, Kirk watched Scotty’s face for any kind of reaction.

 

For his part, Scotty felt like he was about to throw up. It wasn’t that he thought Sean was crazy or wrong or whatever.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

Memories began to bubble up from under the surface - memories of hunger and cold and coveting human warmth. Memories of sharp faces and pale hands and then, a soft, warm face that was and wasn’t his mother.

His hands began to move as he signed to the captain and Doctor.

(I remember now. I was hungry and my mother told me that I could have food to eat if I went into a...) His fingers trembled for a moment before he continued. (Human house. I had to change my face to look like the other baby. The other baby was prettier and my mother took it. The human lady became my mother and I forgot.)

 

“What did you forget, Mr. Scott?” Kirk asked softly.

(That I was a changeling. I am Aos Siedh.) He painstakingly spelled out the last two words, then: (one of the Fair Folk.) 

(Do you want to go back there?) McCoy signed.

All the colour fled Scotty’s cheeks. (No! Never! It was terrible! I like being here!)

Kirk and Bones exchanged a look. “Thank you, Mr. Scott,” Kirk said. “I think you should rest now.” Scotty nodded, still silent, and lay down.

In the hallway, Kirk rubbed his eyes. “Shit.”

“You’re telling me,” groaned McCoy. “So that crackpot was really tellin’ the truth.” “Now what?” Bones shrugged. “You’re the captain. You tell me.”

Kirk frowned at the floor. “I think,” he finally said, “I need to talk to Mr. Holdings again. Explore my options.”

“You mean, you wanna see if you can find a way t’keep Mr. Scott on board without angering a bunch of omnipotent fairies.” Bones pointed out, smirking mirthlessly at his friend.

The other flashed a grin in response. “Oh, you know me, Bones. No such thing as a no-win scenario.”


	3. I saw the track of the fallow deer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A weird filler chapter, wherein Chekov finds he needs the answers to questions he never thought of asking.

_Come home, Monty._

“No, no,” he muttered, cradling his head in his arms. Where is Christine? Where is anyone?

_Come home, baby. Mama wants all her little ones to come home._

  
_Don’t you love your mother, ár leanbh máthair? Don’t you love your Máthair na Banríona?_

“I do, I do! But...”

But what, leanbh?

He licked his lips, mouth dry and dusty. “What of the human child?”

_Leanbh, leanbh - why care?_

He looked at the cool, pale interior of the medbay. “I want tae know.”

_He’ll go back home. And so will you._

“Meester Scott?”

The soft voice of the Aos Sid disappeared. Scott drew a soft breath of relief.

Chekov poked his head through the door, his features creased in worry. “Meester Scott! I vanted to know how you were doing.”

Scotty smiled at the lad, grateful that his teeth had realigned themselves into the normal enamel. “I’m doin’ grand now, lad. Just a wee bit of a funny turn, that’s all!” He had no desire to worry the young man, and even less to spread word that he was actually a changeling. He patted the edge of the bed, inviting Chekov to sit near him.

He does, cautiously watching Scotty’s face for any sign of the bizarre behaviour from earlier. “Vhat happened?” He asked.

Scotty’s mind whirled as he tried to think up a convincing lie, looking down at the bedsheets and twisting them in his hands as he did. “There was a funny kind o’...neurotoxin that th’ man had. It...affected all o’ us, but I got hit the hardest.” He flicked his gaze towards Chekov’s concerned face before he continued. “I-I may have to go away an’ get it treated. It’s nasty stuff, y’see.”

Chekov’s eyes widened in horror. “It is not fatal?” He nearly gasped.

“Och, no! Nothin’ like that! But...it’s got some nasty side effects, all the same.” He smiled weakly at Chekov, hoping that he was being convincing enough.

_You lie so well, Monty! Just like your Máthair!_

“Vhat vas that?!” Chekov yelped, leaping up.

 _He could come with you, you know_ , the Aos Sid drawls, unconcerned. _He’d love to, you know - he likes you._

Chekov was breathing heavily, eyes huge and panicky as he searched for the frankly rather insidious voice (voices?) in the air. “Who is talking? Meester Scott?”

 _He’s got fairy blood, this little one. How about it, Monty? Come home, come home, and you can take this Ruísis with you_.

“Leave me alone,” Scotty sighs, finally tired of the taunting, pleading, harassing words of his family. “I’ll talk to you all later. Let me be, teaghlach.”

Surprisingly, the voices stopped. Scotty lay down, suddenly exhausted.

Chekov, meanwhile, was horrified. The fell voices hadn’t been in any language he could understand - it had sounded like birdsong, but terribly wrong somehow. And Monty - the man he admired, looked up to, and more recently, crushed on - had answered in the same frightening language.

“Vhat is going on, Monty?” He whispered.

Scotty sighed. “Ah’m sorry, Mister Chekov,” he answered in a dull, heavily accented voice. “Ah cannae tell ye th’ truth. Not yet, anyhow.”

Chekov watches the other until his breathing slows and evens out into sleep, and then leaves. He needs answers, even if the only way to get them is to go right to the source - the man from the station.

Sean Holdings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leanbh - little child
> 
> ar leanbh mathair - your mother’s child
> 
> Mathair na banriona - mother-queen
> 
> Mathair - mother 
> 
> Ruisis - Russian
> 
> Teaghlach - family
> 
> All translations courtesy of Google translate, so if anything’s screwy blame Silicon Valley.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think of this au. I don’t even know how it happened. Questions, suggestions, love, hatred, or incoherent rage makes me feel important when I get the notification.


End file.
